


a lonely hope

by eliestarr



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1930s, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-30
Updated: 2012-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-27 15:16:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/980433
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eliestarr/pseuds/eliestarr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She is barely sixteen when her world comes crashing down. When her family holds little to their name, and around them, the market burns. When her friends come and go, trying to get by on what little remains of their country. When she falls in love, and it is her biggest mistake—one she never regrets. 1930s AU. Wally/Artemis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	a lonely hope

**Author's Note:**

> once upon a time, it was written as a gift for brella, and originally posted on tumblr, followed by ffnet. but i'm slowly moving everything over to here now, so there you have it.

**_September, 1935_ **

She is stepping out of the general store when she first bumps into him, rather literally.

“Ow!” he growls, hand reaching for his forehead, which he's knocked into hers. She, however, can’t be bothered, and is far more focused on not dropping any of the soup cans from her paper bag. It is to be their sole meal for the next week. “Watch where you're--”

The words leave him the moment he looks up and catches her gaze. And then his face lights up with a horrible blush, bringing her attention to the largest batch of freckles she's ever seen, and eyes so green she is left thinking of fresh fields and flowers in bloom--a sight one can only dream of, now.

“M-My apologies,” he stammers, dipping his head and taking his cap off. He extends his hand, lips stretching in a friendly grin. “Hi there! Wallace West! Pleased to—”

“Not interested,” she grumbles, brushing past, bag clutched tightly against her chest.

She makes it only a few steps before he stands before her again, somehow grinning wider than before. “Come on, I’d just like to apologize if you’d just—”

“I’m fine, thanks.” She keeps going, shoes tapping against stone as she strides away from him. Or, at least, tries to. The boy’s arm shoots out, hand grappling at the hem of her sleeve and spinning her to face him. The movement, unfortunately, catches her off-balance, and the paper bag tumbles from her grasp. She has time to let loose one single undignified shriek before the soup cans split open on the cobblestones, spraying chicken noodle and three weeks’ worth payment everywhere.

She freezes, watching it run through the cracks between slabs, further down the road and away from her aching fingers. If only she’d held on just a bit tighter. Her sister is going to be furious. She’ll likely make her mother cry again. If there was anything their excuse for a father had taught them before he’d _abandoned_ them, it was not to be wasteful. And to do things on your own, because no one was ever going to have your back, not anymore.

Angry tears gather in her eyes as she falls to her knees, trying desperately to salvage a can or two. Three weeks it has taken her to make enough money to pay for just six cans of chicken noodle soup that somehow, between three, they make last a week. And now, in a blink of an eye, it’s practically all washed away. She can’t bear to think of how her sister will yell, or how thin their mother already looks, or the fact that she _should not_ have bothered with this guy instead of just—

“I’m so sorry,” he starts, kneeling before her, trying to help. It takes her only a moment to notice the startling lack of _grime_ on his trousers and the fact that his shoes aren’t quite as scuffed as hers. And that his shirt is nice and white beneath his vest, rather than stained by sweat and dirt. Or that the red fringe poking out beneath the cap he has placed back on his head looks clean and well-washed. And suddenly, with breath caught in her throat and a burning sensation spreading across her cheeks, she scrambles to her feet.

“Forget it,” she chokes out, and those green eyes trail up to her, confused. It only makes things worse. “I-It’s nothing.” Or at least, it would be, were she from whatever family he has clearly been brought up in, who is faring better than hers in the country’s current position.

“Wait, I can—” he calls after her, but she is light on her feet and well across the street by the time he stands up, frowning.

* * *

**_September, 1935_ **

Her cheek has been stinging for two whole minutes before there is a knock at the door. Her sister, looming over her with a gleam in her eyes so fierce, takes only a moment to contemplate leaving their argument to answer. The fact, of course, that their mother, sitting in her corner chair, has threatened to get it herself when she can hardly walk, certainly influences the decision.

But it does nothing to wash the glare off her face as she pulls the door opened. “What?” she barks, one hand on her hip, the other gripping the door handle with all the rage and frustration she is itching to unleash on the blonde in the other room. The boy standing on their front steps has sparkling green eyes and raggedy red hair, and though he reminds her of a friend, his particular presence at her door unnerves her terribly.

“Is there an Artemis here?” His voice is light, and hopeful, but even then, from her knees in the middle of the living room floor, the girl knows it is _him_. Even before her sister makes her turn as red as his hair.

“What’s someone like _you_ want with someone like _her_?”

 _Wonderful_.

“She left some things behind at the general store. I thought it would be kind to drop them off.” She cranes her neck to get a better look at him, standing before her sister with a bright smile and a paper bag in one hand that she had no doubt is filled with soup cans. She can feel her cheeks burning. _How_ has he found her?

“Who are you?”

“Wallace West, I’m—”

“Leaving,” Artemis says, standing, ignoring the look her mother gives her. She will hear about it later, she is sure. As she brushes past her elder sister, black eyes narrow down at her. She is careful to shut the door behind her. “What are you doing here?” It takes every shred of self-control to keep the hiss from her voice. She knows from his clothes he comes from somewhere better than her, and by that alone, she aims to be respectful.

“As I told the young lady before, just dropping off some things you left behind.” The paper bag hangs loosely between them, allowing her to see more than just soup cans inside, and her brows furrow.

“Why?”

“You seem nice,” he says and she can't help give him a strange look. “Like you deserve better.”

“I don't,” she tells him, but takes the bag anyway. Her gut tells her that she shouldn't. She has been taught to rely on only herself, not on others, but there is something in his eyes that makes her change her mind. She is about to turn back inside when she remembers something strange, about how he is _here_ , on her doorstep, and she pauses, frowning. “How did you know my name? Or where I lived?”

This time, the smile that graces his lips is wistful, with a hint of awkward, and she feels a chill settle in her spine. “You, uh, you work at the factory down on Maine Street, don't you?”

“I—uh, yes, I—I do,” she stammers, because in that moment she's realized who he is. It isn’t just _the_ factory...it is his _father’s_ factory. She feels her stomach twist, knows she shouldn't even be talking to him, that Jade would—

“Artemis, Mother wants a word with you, if you and your… _friend_ are done.” Suddenly Jade is behind her, breath irritatingly close. The tone makes her suspect her sister has been listening and has also figured out who the boy on their porch is.

His mouth does an awkward little twitch before he tries to smile again. “See you around, Artemis.”

Jade speaks before the blonde is able to: “No, you won't.”

* * *

**_January, 1936_ **

The second time she sees him is on a cold and dreary day, after she has been waiting at work over three hours for a snowstorm to pass. Everyone at the factory has long since gone home, but their apartment is on the other side of town, and she doesn't want to chance it. She has eaten little of late, instead giving larger portions to her mother, who is ill again. She's got only a light sweater and a tattered skirt, and boots with too many holes in their soles.

She hasn't a clue what he's doing there when he shows up with a hat snug on his head and a jacket twice his size. But he smiles at her in a way no one ever has, lifts the brown coat from his shoulders, and lets her see he wears a second beneath. She is confused, but does not speak as she slides into the sleeves, and inhales the scent of firewood and tobacco.

“Bit cold, isn’t it?” He grins. No hello, no mention of when they last spoke, nothing. She can only shrug under the weight of his coat which, admittedly, is relieving her of her chills. “Are you waiting for someone? Your sister?”

She wonders what would be more embarrassing to share: the fact that Jade wouldn’t bother to pick her up, even in the direst of situations, or that they have never in their lives come close to owning some form of transportation—not even before the collapse. She settles for something simpler. “The snowstorm.”

“You live rather far, I remember,” he nods. There is a pause before he clears his throat and scratches at the back of his neck, and a single ridiculous thought that it looks even remotely _attractive_ slithers its way into her thoughts. “I can take you, if you’d like?”

She shoots him a ludicrous look. He must realize that simply doesn’t _happen_ , doesn’t he? “Why?” She dislikes the way she sounds like Jade.

“Because I’d like to,” he replies, and the way he smiles makes he feel funny. She can’t figure out why he’s here, why he’s talking to her or even looking at her. She doesn’t understand why four months ago, he told her she deserved better. Because her father is long gone and her mother is ill and her sister, cruel. There is no ‘better’. Not in the world they live in.

But regardless of what she knows is right and normal, she still nods and says yes and lets him take her home. She still agrees to see him the following week, after work. She still decides that he’s not so bad, and that somehow, she can see herself getting to know him better.

* * *

**_May, 1936_ **

The grass is cold and a little damp beneath her back, but stretched out in her best dress on this bright Sunday afternoon, she can’t bring herself to care. Her hair is out of the braid that constantly restrains it and is spread out around her. He is lying beside her with one arm supporting his head, and she is acutely aware that his fingertips are touching her blond locks. He is pointing at the clouds in the sky and comparing them to the most ridiculous things and all she can think of is how she wishes they could stay in this moment. Forever.

Here, in the tiny meadow on the edge of town he brought her to her when the snow thawed from wintertime, they are free. They can be honest, and without fear, can be themselves. They can be _friends_. Because somehow, the boy who shouldn’t have been at her front door eight months ago, has become the highlight of her day when he walks her home from the factory and disappears before Jade spots him. And this place, this tiny clearing with wiry grass and a bit of a breeze, has become _theirs_.

“Do you see that one? The one that looks like an elephant?” he asks, and she squints at the sky before shaking her head. “Here, let me show you.” She feels him slide closer, feels his arm brush against hers as he repositions himself, and completely misses whatever it is he’s trying to show her. By the third time he tries to point it out, he realizes she’s not getting it and lets out a laugh, giving up. “You’re terrible at this, you know.”

“You’ve just got better imagination, Wallace,” she shrugs, and feels a smile tug at her lips as she thinks of all the ridiculous theories rolling around inside his head. he has shared only a few of them with her, simply because she does not have the _education_ in her background to understand them. Their differences are not something they bring up often, and certainly not here.

“ _Wally_ ,” he gripes, and she snickers. He carries a strong dislike for his full name, and prefers people use the nickname--which is precisely why _not doing so_ is a hobby of hers. At least, here. She can only imagine the trouble she’d cause using it in public and revealing just how close they are. “And besides,” he continues, “you _do_ have imagination. Think of all the dreams you tell me about, Artemis!”

“They don’t mean anything,” she says bitterly, glaring at the sky. “They’re just dreams. That doesn’t mean they’ll come true.”

“Why can’t they?”

“ _Because_ Wally, that can’t happen, not for me. All I’m ever going to be good for is providing for a family that doesn’t care; a mother who’s barely there and a sister who hates me.” She knows this is stepping over a boundary she promised to draw between them, but she can’t stop. She can’t help but feel this ever present gap between their lives that cannot be bridged, that he doesn’t seem to understand, or wish to acknowledge. And so, she keeps going. “I won’t have the kind of family that appreciates me. I won’t get to make those big dinners for those I love and spend holidays doing anything but working. That kind of love isn’t an option for me and you _know_ that.”

“You’re wrong.” He says it so simply, so easily, that she can’t help but turn and look at him, if only to give him an incredulous look. But his brows are creased together, and he looks so serious, and there’s a glint in his green eyes she’s not quite familiar with, that she can’t bring herself to do it. She realizes then just how close they are, and her cheeks heat ever so slightly. “Not if I can help it.”

And then he closes the gap between them, and every doubt she had about those dreams are gone. With his lips pressed against hers, she believes in everything she didn’t before. His fingers tangle in her hair and it feels exactly the way she’d imagined and she feels like there isn’t anything in the world to stop her from dreaming and getting what she wants. For a single moment, she is _happy_.

* * *

**_June, 1936_ **

Their first date nearly convinces her to call the whole thing off. The restaurant is stuffy and even in her nicest dress and brand new stockings, she feels like the whole place is watching her. The food is good and the music is lovely and she can’t talk him out of paying for everything and she’s entirely convinced that _she_ is the problem. She has never before been on a date, her mother would have nothing to help her, because her situation with her father was far more _organized_ , and Jade--she won’t dare tell Jade, not yet. And so any knowledge her sister possesses from being courted by that boy she is seeing--that Mister Harper--is lost on Artemis.

She does not know that she shouldn’t be as familiar with him here as she is in the meadow, when they are alone. She isn’t aware there are things she shouldn’t talk about, issues she shouldn’t press. And the problems do not end there.

She knows from the moment she walks in that she does not belong. Everything is too bright, too clean, too _perfect_. She is under-dressed and feels ridiculous glancing at the things other women there are wearing with scarves and gloves and things that sparkle. She is not used to being waited upon or having different forks and spoons for portions and meals and with every mistake she makes, she feels a crack settle deeper in her heart. This will not work. This _cannot_ work.

She is nearly in tears by the time he pays the waiter, and they leave the restaurant. He knows something is wrong and does not take her directly home but instead, to the meadow. As soon as she sees the grass and the trees and the sky she is used to staring up at, her eyes unleash a wave of sadness, and she is angry at herself for it. “That was awful.”

“Y-You didn’t like it?” He sounds wounded, almost crestfallen. “But I thought the restaurant would be perf--”

“It wasn’t about the restaurant, Wally. It was about _me_!” she turns, and only then does he see the tears gathered in her eyes, on her cheeks. “I didn’t belong there, and you knew that! This place, here, in this meadow, with just us, _that_ fits me.”

“That’s exactly why I took you!” He moves closer, reaching for her arm, but she pulls away. “To show you that you _could_ belong there, if you wanted. To show you you could be _special_.”

“Why?” Her lips force out the words even if she dreads speaking them. The tears in her eyes aren’t helping. “I’m not anything special, Wally. You seem to forget that.”

“You are to me,” he insists. “And I’d like to show you that, if you’ll let me.”

“How?”

She has the time to see the smirk form on his lips before he’s so close their noses are touching and their foreheads are pressed together and his lips are covering hers. This is nothing like their first kiss, gentle and hesitant and testing. This is hard and fast and as his hands tangle in her hair and press her closer, she is forced to wrap her arms around his neck for balance, because this kiss is fire and heat and--it’s damn _convincing_ , that’s what it is. There is something in her stomach that twists and something in her heart that soars and she finds herself astounded that he can make her believe so much with just a kiss.

She hasn’t a clue what she’s getting herself into but for the moment, she is glad she didn’t call the date--or any of this--off.

* * *

**_December, 1936_ **

It is snowing and cold on the night she finally meets his family and she is thankful that she has saved up enough after her last double shift to buy gloves without holes. Their house is by the factory and she insists on walking. It is his mother who opens the door, with a smile so warm and wide that it alone melts some of the frosty fear Artemis has gathered on the walk over.

“Welcome!” Mary West says, wearing a long red dress that compliments her hair and she catches sight of the very same emerald eyes she’s used to seeing on Wally. As she unbuttons her coat and hands it to the older woman, she tries to smooth out her dress. It is new, and she has been saving it for this occasion. “Well, now, Wallace told me you were pretty, but this--” his mother hovers closer, teeth shiny and white in her smile, “you’re beautiful, dear.”

She tries not to cringe, because that is the nickname he has fashioned for her when they’re alone in their quiet place. Instead, she bites her lip and twirls the end of her wavy hair around one finger--hair which her mother, with her weak fingers and fading strength, convinced her to let her do. “T-Thank you.”

“It’s so nice to finally meet you, Wallace has told us so much about you,” Mary smiles, shaking her hand, and Artemis can only wonder _what_ parts of her life he’s talked about. Sensing her discomfort, Mrs. West laughs. “Only wonderful things, of course, dear!”

 _Thank god_ , Artemis thinks as the woman leads her down the hall and into the most fantastically decorated dining room she has ever seen. There’s a fireplace and a bright red tablecloth and silverware so clean she can only stare. A large vase with an arrangement of holly sits in the middle of the table, wrapped in a bright red bow, and candles frame it. Everything threatens to overwhelm her and she is surely standing there gaping like a fool but she simply cannot stop herself. Thankfully, someone else does.

“Artemis!” She turns to see him coming in from another doorway, wearing his favorite pair of trousers and matching vest, and he smiles so radiantly at her, she thinks this maybe wasn’t such a terrible idea after all. Christmas with him. Christmas with _his family_.

As he wraps his arms around her, and whispers that he is glad she wore the dress he bought her, he leads her to her seat, and introduces her to his family as they join them at the table. His aunt Iris who is obviously his mother’s sister, with her red hair and green eyes and same warm smile. His uncle Barry, who is just as bright and full of energy as Wally, who works at the local printing press, and whose name she recognizes, because once or twice, when her sister has had Mister Harper over, he has spoken of his boss with only kindness.

And then, there is his father, Rudolph, for whom he is partly named. The man who is, technically, her boss. The man who is seated at the head of the table, and who has spent all of dinner shooting her looks. She is growing increasingly uncomfortable, and although Wally spent a week telling her how the dinner would go and showing her things so she wouldn’t feel awkward and lacking in manners, she still fidgets in her seat until he takes her hand and offers her a reassuring smile.

Dinner goes smoothly. The food is wonderful and his family is so nice and his father doesn’t say a word to her. That is, of course, until it is over. Mary and Iris start clearing the table and doing the dishes and no matter how much she offers, they tell Artemis to stay put. And then Wally disappears into the living room with his uncle to help start the fireplace, and Rudolph chooses that moment to clear his throat.

“So,” he begins, fingers pressed together and lips pursed, “you work at my factory.” She nods. “You’re Lawrence Crock’s girl aren’t you?”

She cringes. She can’t help it. It’s not often someone brings up her father. At home, it’s a subject that’s forever off limits, except in those moments of her mother’s lucidity when she calls out for him, and the girls must tell her the truth over and over again--he’s gone, he’s left them, and he’s not coming back. Slowly, she manages a rather weak “yes” and he continues on.

“Crooked man, he was, your father. Up and left his wife and children--not a family man at all.” She fidgets in her seat under his gaze. She can already sense where this is going. “Quite a different upbringing you’ve got. So, I simply wonder...,” she twists the fabric of her dress around her fingers, nervous, “what you’re doing with my son. You must realize this isn’t normal, don’t you?”

He goes on to explain why, of course, and tells her about how he should be finding a nice girl for his son to marry about now. Everything he says is just an echo of what has crossed her mind before, but it doesn’t stop that shred of doubt from ripping through her heart and determination.

“This is only temporary,” he tells her, brown eyes narrowed and lacking any of the warmth that his son and wife have. “It _will_ be over before long, and you will retreat back into your hole and release my son to the world he, and not you, belong in. Do you understand? _He deserves better_.”

She wants to say no. She wants to stand up for what she feels in her heart for Wally, what is growing into something far more serious than she’d imagined. But she can’t. She remembers when Wally spoke those same words to her, told her she deserved better, but she didn’t believe it then and certainly doesn’t now. The moment she opens her mouth, she sees the man before her, the man who controls her income and her family’s health and everything she is working hard to achieve. She is caught between a dream she has been living, and the reality she must face, and it hurts so terribly to say it, but Rudolph West is right. As right as she was that day in the meadow, when their first date was nearly their last. This shouldn’t happen. It _can’t_.

She stands from her seat with tears in her eyes but a determinedly grim smile on her face, and tells Mr. West that it was wonderful to meet him, and wishes him a Happy Christmas. He smirks as she leaves the room and heads for the coat rack, her fingers trembling. She is halfway to the door when she hears him. “Artemis?” He is standing in the doorway to the living room with a puzzled expression, and when he notices her dressed and ready to go, fear flickers across his face. “What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, Wally,” she says.

He spots the tears in her eyes and his gaze trails back towards the dining room where his father is still seated and she watches as his fingers clench into fists. “What did he say?”

“The truth. The same things I’ve known all along. That this can’t work.”

“You’re wrong. It can.”

“Why?” He opens his mouth to answer, but she raises a hand to stop him. “Because I’m special? Because you’d like to show me? You’re not convincing me with a kiss. Not this time, Wally. I thought maybe it was just me, the way I was raised to expect the very worst, to assume I couldn’t be this happy and _normal_. But hearing it from your father--”

“He’s--”

“Looking out for you,” she says, hand on the door, a moment away from stepping over that line and disappearing into the snow. “The paths our lives are taking, they’re not the same. Your father knows that, I know that. Why don’t you? Why don’t you see we don’t belong--”

“Don’t you dare,” he hisses, stepping up to her, grabbing her arms, green eyes flashing. “Don’t you say that. We--”

“Give me one good reason. One reason I shouldn’t leave and do what I should’ve done months ago.”

His lips are pressed tightly together and his brows are knotted and she can feel his breath touch her nose. But he says nothing. His eyes speak volumes, but she wants to hear him say it. She wants to hear him tell her to stay, convince with her words and not actions. And he doesn’t.

“Goodbye, Wally. Tell your mother thank you.” She slips out of the house with tears in her eyes and an ache in her heart and she never hears him whisper the three little words that would’ve kept her there.

* * *

**_January, 1937_ **

It takes them four weeks and three days to come back together. Four weeks of walking home from work in the cold and the snow and missing his warmth, but telling her it’s better this way. Three days of knowing he has shown up at the factory and has watched her leave. Until finally, when the snow is a little thicker and she hasn’t quiet left on time, he’s there, beside her, with an extra jacket and warmer gloves just like that day a year ago when they agreed to be friends. The coat smells like firewood and tobacco and she is reminded in a single whiff of everything she has been missing these last weeks.

She tries very hard not to ask him why. She fights the urge to throw her arms around him. She spends the whole trip back to her house in silence, fearing that if she opens her mouth, she’ll only mess things up. She hasn’t a clue why he’s here or what he’s doing when she told him to stay away but as he quietly reaches across and tentatively takes her hand, she can’t bring herself to care.

Only when they’re standing in front of her house does she finally speak. “I’ve missed you. I know I shouldn’t but--”

“So have I,” he smiles wistfully. “It’s taken me forever to work up the courage to come after you.”

“You’ve been hanging around the factory the last three days,” she nods.

“Longer,” he grins. “You just haven’t noticed.” He squeezes her hand and looks over at her with sad eyes. “Did you mean what you said, on Christmas?”

“Every word.”

“Is there any way I can change your mind?” She shrugs, and stares up at her front door. She is so focused on praying that her sister doesn’t open the door and see them that she barely even catches his words. “I love you, Artemis, did you know that?” She freezes and fights every urge to look into his eyes. “I tried to tell you that day, but I didn’t think it was the time. I thought you might assume I was just saying it to keep you around, that I didn’t mean it. But I do. That’s why I keep fighting for this, why I think you’re special, why I told my father he’s wrong and that--”

“Did you want to come in?”

She says it so calmly, so suddenly, that it takes him a moment to register, and then his eyes light up. Because except for that day he showed up on her doorstep with food, he has never been here. He has never formally been introduced to her family the way she was to his on Christmas. Their home lives are something they only talk of, never cross over into and for her to say this now means he may just have yet convinced her there is something here worth fighting for.

“I’d love to.”

There are practically tears in her mother’s eyes when she introduces him. He smiles wide as he sits next to her, and answers all her questions, and says everything right. Standing in the doorway watching them, Artemis can’t help but smile. It makes her mother happy to finally meet him, but she knows Paula Crock was never the one she had to worry about.

It is the young woman with dishevelled black hair walking through their front door behind her that she needs to be afraid of. The moment her sister comes in, a laugh dying on her lips, accompanied by that Mister Harper, Artemis knows this isn’t going to go as well as she’d hoped.

“What is _he_ doing here?” she says, eyes narrowed down at her. “I thought we’d settled this.”

When she says nothing and Wally looks over from the couch with a smile, Jade’s hands ball into fists. “When are you going to get it, Artemis?” Behind her sister, the tall redhead whose first name eludes her scratches at his neck, looking rather uncomfortable. “You two can’t work.”

“And you and Roy can?” _Hah_ , she remembered his name in time.

Jade’s eyes narrow. “You know that’s different.”

“No, it isn’t. You keep trying to convince me of that, keep trying to make me as miserable as I was before he came along. But you’re wrong.” She takes a deep breath, and glances at Wally, seeing in his eyes the same thing she saw outside, when he told her he loved her. She smiles defiantly, and continues. “He makes me happy, Jade, and I--I”m pretty sure I’m in love with him. He’s willing to overlook where we’re from, and I wish you could be happy for me, like a sister’s supposed to. But you’re too busy being miserable and because Harper’s never going to treat you the way you want. And I’m tired of letting you convince me I’m wrong.”

There is a moment where Jade opens her mouth to speak, where she looks ready to fight back and claw her sister’s throat out. But she turns and takes one look at Roy, who can’t meet her eyes, and knows her little sister is right. What they are doing, her and the boy from the printing press, won’t amount to anything more than right now. Because they don’t talk about feelings and the future and the possibility of more the way Artemis does with Wally. Because Roy won’t bridge the gap between their different lives the way Wally has. Because she’s never going to be fully happy. Her fists fall loose and she glares at the found. “Fine,” she seethes. “Keep playing your little game with him. But don’t you dare come crying to me if it doesn’t work out.”

And with that, she storms out the front door, says she won’t be around for the evening, and slowly, Roy follows, slamming the door behind them. Artemis lets loose the breath she’d been holding, expecting her sister to explode on her. It is the first time she has stood up to her that way, and the only time Jade hasn’t hit her for it.

* * *

**_May, 1938_ **

She remembers their first date at this restaurant. She remembers how she wasn’t ready, how the lights and the decorations and all the fancy patrons frightened her and put her best dress to shame. She remembers how she went home crying and nearly ended it all. But this time, it is much different.

She knows what dinner conversation is acceptable and is just fine showing him the appropriate amount of affection. She is dressed the part and has long since abandoned the idea that she does not belong here. Because sitting across from Wally, wearing a green dress that matches his eyes and focusing solely on his smile, she knows she does.

The date passes smoothly and Wally lets her tip the waiter, and as they’re walking out he reaches over and squeezes her hand. “You okay?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

“The first time we were here.”

He smiles wistfully as they get in the car. “Better date this time around, I hope?”

“I’m not planning on leaving you, if that’s what you’re asking.” He laughs, and she notices then that he’s taking a detour. “Where are we going?” But it’s more of a ‘why’ because she’s very aware this road leads to the meadow.

“You’ll see,” he smiles.

She squints as they arrive at the spot where he leaves the car. There is light coming from the meadow, and she isn’t sure why. As she approaches, she spots lanterns hanging along the tree line, and and a large blanket spread out where she is used to lying with him, and her brows crease in confusion. “Wally, what is this?”

“A surprise,” he grins, and leads her to it. She is rather lost, but still, she takes a seat, and marvels at how beautiful the little meadow looks illuminated by so many candlelit lanterns. He takes a moment to relight one that was snuffed out while they were at the restaurant before he joins her. “Do you like it?”

“Wally, it’s beautiful but I don’t--I don’t understand. Why?”

He lies back and folds an arm beneath his head, looking up at the stars. A smile plays on his lips and slowly, she lies down beside him, and her hair falls in waves around her, and she flashes back to staring at cloud-shapes and hesitant touches and their kiss. She knows then what day it is, what passed between them two years ago here. She smiles and leans her head against his shoulder. “Our first kiss?”

He nods. “I wondered what day would be right. I was planning on going with our first date, but I felt it was a little silly using the same restaurant,” he chuckles. “And when we first met, well...a little chilly to be lying in a grass field in the winter, isn’t it?”

“And you wanted this to be special because?” She laughs, watching stars flicker in the sky above them. Beside her, he clears his throat awkwardly and doesn’t answer. So, instead, she points to the sky. “Show me the constellations again?” She hears shuffling beside her before he raises his hand to meet hers, and she swears just for a moment that she sees him shake.

“That one there’s the big dipper,” he starts, leading her fingers off to the right and towards a series of bright stars at arc downwards. “And beside it there is the little dipper.” He continues further down, tracing patterns in the night sky, and she smiles. “That’s Orion, the archer.”

As their intertwined fingers trail upwards, she can _swear_ she feels his hand shake this time. “And that one there’s my favorite. It’s called Virgo.” She is staring at a bright patch of stars east of Orion, trying to make out what it looks like. “It--uh, it reminds me of you, actually. She--”

“She?”

“Yes, _she_. The constellation’s in the shape of a woman, silly.” He traces the length of the constellation, drawing it for her in the sky. She is so focused on his words, on trying to see this woman in the sky, she barely notices something cold and metallic slip between their fingers. “And she’s been guiding ladies like you on their path for ages. She’s supposed to be beautiful, and strong and pure and--”

“Are you sure you’re not in love with a constellation, Wally?”

“Can’t be. I’ve got my own star down here,” he says, and it’s then she feels something slip onto her hand and as he pulls away, she is left staring at the single, silver ring on her left hand with a sparkling gem in the middle that catches the light from the lanterns. Suddenly, it’s like she can’t breathe, and she stares at him, mouth agape, unable to find the words.

“It this...it’s a...but...” Nothing comes out right and she stares at him until he smiles brightly.

“Do you like it?”

“This is... _this_ is why you wanted tonight to be a special day?” She stares at the ring then back at him, and can only nod slowly, her eyes stinging. Because this is not something she would’ve expected in a million years. This is something she would’ve laughed at if a stranger had told her months ago. This is something she has dreamed of and she has never believed any of those dreams would come true. “Wally, I don’t know what to say.”

“Yes would be preferable.”

One look at his hopeful green eyes and she bursts into tears. She throws her arms around him and hugs him so tight she fears he might not be able to breathe. She manages to choke out a “yes” before she tangles her fingers in his hair and she kisses him until she can’t breathe, hoping that everything she can’t say is expressed as her voice fails her.

* * *

**_October, 1938_ **

There are tears in her eyes and she’s trying with everything she has not to collapse. Wally is holding her shaking hand and it is the only thing keeping her steady. The music is quiet and sad and there aren’t many people that come, but she thanks each of them for their kind words and condolences. They speak well of her mother, the little they knew her before she fell ill, and they are all so very sorry for her loss. But it doesn’t matter, because saying sorry and praying for her won’t bring her back.

And neither will being angry. Something she wishes she could tell her sister, who stands on the other side of the coffin, fists clenched, glaring at the ground. Mister Harper--Artemis supposes she should probably start calling him Roy at some point--is with her, but has not once tried to take her hand and offer her support. She is too angry for that.

The funeral ends quietly and without a fuss and after one last look at her sleeping form, Artemis nods and the men take her mother away forever. The tears in her eyes swell as she thinks of the things she will never do again. She will never be there to welcome her home from work, or ask about Wally after their dates. She will no longer be on hand to ask about cooking this or that for dinner, or scold the girls when they start arguing too loudly. Or sew back the holes in her work dresses. Or tell her the most wonderful folk tales from home. Or talk her into letting her braid or curl or brush her littlest girl’s hair.

And that is when Jade snaps.

At first Artemis can’t make out any of the words her sister screams at her from across the room, where she has moved to thank people as they file out. But as Wally ushers the last people out and closes the door and Jade is before her, face red and eyes wild, she hears everything clearly as she blames this all on Artemis.

She didn’t work hard enough to provide and give her enough food. She focused too much on Wally and not enough on their mother. She gave up on them the same way their father did. She is nothing but a terrible little sister who let their mother die.

Artemis thinks of how she withered away for a month when she gave her mother bigger helpings and sacrificed her own. Thinks of how when Wally offered to take her away from her sister and out of their house, she said no, insisting she needed to look after their mother. Remembers how she has fought, every day since Lawrence left to make things better for them. She is boiling with rage by the time Jade runs out of things to blame her for and in one heated moment she brings her hand up and slaps her sister so hard across the face her hand stings.

“Don’t you dare!” Artemis shrieks, her tears hot. “Don’t even try to say I have never helped mother, when I’ve worked at that factory night and day from the moment I was old enough! When you’ve been through three jobs and are barely ever home and likely regret not taking off the moment dad left us!”

“Not with you around,” she spits. “Had to care for _precious_ little Artemis, didn’t I?”

“And if I hadn’t been there? If I hadn’t been such an _obstacle?_ ” Jade’s silence is even stronger an answer than words would’ve been. “I’m so sorry for being such a burden then, sister. I’m sorry for trying to be a family. I’m _sorry_ for trying to trying to be a little sister that _loved_ you!”

“I s’pose it’s a good thing you don’t have to bother anymore, then,” Jade bites coldly, her eyes empty. There isn’t even anger left, and Artemis supposes she should feel guilty, but she doesn’t. Because just like the night she fought back at the house when she reunited with Wally, a weight lifts from her chest and she feels lighter. She is giving her sister a taste of her own viciousness and she is happy about it.

That is, until the next morning, when she awakes to find the house empty and Jade has left.

* * *

**_February, 1939_ **

Artemis has never before felt happy the way she does walking down the aisle on the arm of his uncle Barry, who was kind enough to offer his services as stand-in father. Her hair is curly and pinned up beneath her veil and her dress shines beneath the church lights, but they do not make her feel pretty. The way Wally looks at her as she walks towards him at the altar, _that_ makes her feel like she’s a shining star. It makes her feel like she really is as special as he has been telling her she is. It makes her forget, for a moment, that no family of hers is here. He has his mother and father and aunt and uncle and his best friends from school as his groomsmen and so many people in this church are here for _him_ and _his_ family.

All she has are two girls from the factory where she works, standing there with smiles on their faces in their purple gowns, offering her support. Megan’s red hair and pale skin stands out brightly against the pale purple of her dress, while Zatanna’s hair looks darker and richer and her bright blue eyes sparkle. She has done her best in the short time she has know them to memorize the names of Wally’s best friends. The short young man directly behind is Richard Grayson, and happens to be the Mayor’s kid, while the tall and stocky gentleman is Conner Kent.

In the front row are his parents; his mother wiping her nose in a handkerchief and his father smiling, all teeth and no shine, but Artemis is glad he’s making the effort for Wally’s sake. Barry leaves her and reunites with Iris, and Artemis notices the way she leans on her husband for support. Across from her, Wally is smiling ear to ear and she finds it contagious.

Megan tosses flowers on them the moment they are officially married and she’s all aglow, moving people swiftly into another room for the reception. The girl loves to dance and she isn’t going to waste an opportunity. And so Artemis finds herself in the middle of the tiny room with her arms around Wally’s neck, swaying to a song that took them ages to agree on. It’s not as slow as she’d have liked, but here, on this dance floor, arms wrapped around the man who she can now call _husband_ , she hasn’t a care. Because to them, it means everything. To them, _I’ve Got Rhythm_ is _theirs_.

Soon enough other people join them in dancing. Megan is first and drags one of Wally’s groomsmen--the tall, broad one named Conner who is awkward given their height difference but he gets through it with a smile. “She likes him, I think,” Artemis tells Wally, and he frowns.

“Who?”

“Megan,” she motions with her head, and Wally spins them to see. “Your friend Conner, the one that happens to be built like a wall.”

He snorts and leans his head against hers, and twirls them so she can see his friend Richard dancing with a pretty redhead that’s slightly taller than him in her sparkling shoes. “Your friends have a thing for redheads, do they?”

“Well, I suppose it’s just a side effect of hanging around with me,” he winks, and she can’t help but laugh. She is happy that laughing will be easier now, with him around. Since her mother passed she has been living with the West family, and she knows it is time they leave. She is grateful for their hospitality and for opening their home to her, but it is not somewhere she is comfortable. They once discussed fixing up her house and moving in there, but with the memories it will bring her, she cannot do it. To preserve the memory of her mother, they have sold it, and given it to someone who will not be attached and she has put it towards bettering her life.

His father and uncle have been working tirelessly since on their gift to the happy couple--a small house built in their meadow. The only wedding present that brought her to tears, and one which she is eternally grateful for. Eventually, they will move in there, and she will have to face the fact that she won’t have to provide for a withering mother or bitter sister. She will somehow be facing the task of a loving husband and family that she had never thought possible when it had only before been a dream. And with all of this, she will have to remember that now she is _Mrs West_.

* * *

**_July, 1940_ **

She has been sitting in front of a bucket for the last three hours, and she is more than tired of it. Her stomach aches and her arms are sore from holding back her hair. She is a mess but still, when he gets home from the factory where he’s helping his father, Wally makes his way over and kisses her cheek and asks her if she’s feeling alright.

“I’m fine,” she lies, and his brows crease. He can see that clearly she isn’t, as she turns away from him and throws up. “Okay, maybe not.”

“Have you been here all day?” he asks, crouching beside her. He reaches out and places a hand against her forehead, and frowns. “You’re clammy, and a bit warm. Do you want me to call--”

“I called Mary when it started,” she replies, leaning into his touch.

“Did she tell you Aunt Iris is getting worse?”

“She did, but Wally?”

“Yes, beautiful?”

“I think I might be pregnant.”

Only on their wedding day has she seen him smile wider than he does now. He kisses her temple and her cheek before pulling away and staring at her with bright eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Your mother seems to be.”

“What do you think it’ll be? We’ll have to start picking out names and decorating the room and--”

“Wally!” he stops speaking and looks at her and she can only smile. He looks all of about ten years old in his fit of excitement. “Can we get through this sickness first, please?”

“Of course,” he grins, taking over at holding her hair up at her neck. “But I’m going to start thinking of names anyway, you know.”

“Wouldn’t have it otherwise,” she laughs, then finds herself in the bucket again. How long did Mary tell her this would last?

* * *

**_March, 1941_ **

It’s a girl. This is the first thing she hears when she is conscious enough. The second, is that Wally loves her, and the third, is that she’s beautiful. Their little baby girl with his eyes and just the tiniest curl of blond hair, like hers. She is fair skinned and so small in his arms, and when he passes her to her mother, Artemis has tears in her eyes. She is the most precious thing she has ever laid eyes on.

They let his mother and father into the room with them, and Mary stands at her side, holding her husband’s hand with misty eyes and the most adoring of smiles. Barry is there, in the door, arms crossed and wearing a tired smile.

Artemis is not even done admiring the baby her and Wally have brought into this world when the subject of a name is brought up by the nurse, who has papers to fill out and things to do. She exchanges a look with her husband, who, after looking towards his uncle Barry, nods firmly. They’ve had names picked out for months, in the event of a boy or a girl, but they’re finding that now, it would be meaningless.

And so, she ushers Barry towards them and with softness in her voice, asks him, “Would it be okay with you if we named her Iris?”

His eyes cloud over with tears and his hand shakes just slightly, but he nods and says yes before collapsing into the chair behind Wally and grieving for his wife. As Wally places his hand on his uncle’s shoulder, he asks him if he’d like to be their child’s godfather. He is exhausted and she has been gone only two weeks, but this--this at least makes him smile, a little.

“Who’s going to be the godmother?” Mary asks, and Artemis smiles. She can already see the look of delight on Zatanna’s face.

* * *

**_March, 1942_ **

It is warm enough for them to be outside in the yard that day, and they’ve got a blanket beneath them too. Artemis lies on her back and little Iris is sleeping on her stomach. Beside her, Wally is doing his best to point out cloud formations that look like things she can actually recognize. If he wasn’t trying with all his might to keep her entertained, she might fancy a nap, the heat of her baby girl and her husband lulling her to sleep.

Still, she closes her eyes, telling herself it’s only for a moment. She can feel the breeze on her cheeks and hear Wally telling Iris stories and thinks of all the times they have been here before, in this meadow, lying together and thinking about everything. It is their meadow, always has been, and it is the one place they can always be completely at peace. In this meadow, she can forget, if only for a moment that out there, in the world, things are falling apart. Somewhere, across the ocean, people are dying and killing each other and everywhere, there is fear and hate. Wally’s voice pulls her from her reverie.

“Artemis, you awake?”

“‘Course. Just resting my eyes, dear.”

“Ah, okay.”

There is a pause before she cocks one eye open and considers him for a moment. He’s sitting up and has looked away from her and back up at the sky. “Wally?”

“Hmm?”

“What is it?”

He sighs. “Guess I’m not very good at keeping a straight face, am I?”

“I’ve always been the better liar, you know that.” He says nothing, and so she lies there, Iris snoring softly against her chest, as she stares up at the same he does. She needs only one look at him to know something is off. His shoulders are too tense and there is just the tiniest bead of sweat rolling down from his temple that has nothing to do with the heat. Something is _very_ off.

“Artemis?” he says, after a moment.

“Hmm?”

“I’m going to war.”

It takes her a moment to register his words, but soon enough she shoots up and little Iris nearly falls from her lap. “You’re _what_?”

“I...I’m going to war,” he says, this time louder and more sure of himself. But still, he isn’t looking at her, and she feels her stomach twist horribly. “I signed up last week. With Richard and Conner. We’re--”

“Are you doing this for them?”

“No, I want to.”

“You _want_ to?” she says, and she has the sense to put Iris down and away from her on the blanket before she snaps completely. “You _want_ to leave this family?!”

“No,” he shakes his head, and only now turns to look at her. His eyes are glistening, but that doesn’t put a stop to the anger boiling in her chest, nor the angry tears pooling in her own eyes. “But Artemis, there’s a war going on, and people are dying, and they need help.”

“But they don’t need _yours!_ ” she shrieks, rising to her feet, fists clenched. “ _You_ have a family here, people who love you, and I--what have your parents got to say about this? Have you told them?”

“Mom hopes I’ll change my mind. Dad approves.”

 _Of course he does_ , she wants to say, but only manages a choked sob. “You can’t. Wally, you can’t _go_.” She looks to Iris then, who she has not yet managed to wake with her yelling. “That little girls needs a _father_ , Wally. And I’ll be damned if keep her from that chance.”

“Artemis, I’ve already put in my name. And Richard--”

“What does Barbara think of him leaving? They’re not even--God, Wally, he’s only _nineteen_!”

“She’s not happy about it, but, he proposed, and said that when he gets back--”

“Wally, do you know how often people actually _come back_? Do you know the odds of someone--” Suddenly she thinks of _him_ , leaving, and _his_ odds, and her tears worsen. She shakes her head fervently. “No. You’re not going. You won’t. Wally, you can’t _do_ this to us. Not after everything!”

“Artemis, I--” he stands there and looks at her with those sad green eyes, and she knows in her heart that whatever he tells her won’t be good. That whatever he says, it’s something he can’t take back. “It’s done, Artemis. I’m scheduled to leave next week.”

Her whole world spins around her then, a blurry mess of anger and sadness and fear and loathing and all she can do is scream at him and hit him. “How _dare_ you! How could you _do_ this to me? To us? To _Iris_?” Who, at this very moment, her shrill voice has awoken, and the poor baby girl goes on crying as her mother bangs her fist against her father’s chest. “I can’t believe you! After everything, I can’t believe you’d do this!”

“Artemis, _please_ understand--”

“I don’t want to understand!” She sobs, and her chest aches in a way that she hates as her vision blurs. Iris keeps crying and Wally just stands there as his wife tries to hit his chest again. Calmly, he takes her wrists and tries to look her in the eye but she won’t have it. “This is wrong! _You’re_ wrong!”

“Beautiful, if you’d just--”

“You don’t--” she nearly chokes on the word, pulling away from him, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You don’t get to call me that.”

“I’m sorry,” he sighs, bending down to pick up his hat and kiss Iris on her head. “I’m so sorry, Artemis.” He turns, and she doesn’t reach out to stop him.

“Wallace West, don’t you dare walk away from me!” She screams until her throat is raw, but never once does he look back.

She spends that week trying to convince him not to leave. Every time he packs, she throws his things away. Every phone call from Richard or Conner, she doesn’t pass on. And every night, when they go to sleep, she cries and whispers for him not to go.

And at the end of that week the only thing she has left is a shirt with the smell of firewood and tobacco and she wraps Iris in it and cries, alone, in their house, in their meadow, without him.

* * *

**_April, 1942_ **

Throwing up her breakfast into a bucket is no more exciting this time than it was the last. Mary holds her hair and rubs her back, but he isn’t there holding her hand or kissing her forehead and that’s what makes this so much worse. Iris is in the other room, sleeping and when she wakes, Mary must leave to look after her.

Megan and Zatanna come by when they can, but Megan finds it hard not bringing up Conner and the letters he sends her, which only makes things worse for her friend, while Zatanna is juggling two separate jobs to help out on their side of the war. In the end, it is Barbara that is constantly there to help. She lives barely a block away, and with Richard gone, her and Artemis have grown much closer.

It is hard, reading the letters he sends her. She tries to think about how he’s doing the right thing, tries to focus on how this is what he wants, and she should be happy for him. But she can’t be happy that her little girl is growing up without a father, much earlier than she had to.And she can’t bring herself to be pleased that most days she barely gets out of bed, because she doesn’t want to wander down the hall and not see him at the table, with breakfast waiting and newspaper in hand. And she can’t--she _refuses_ to think of what’s going to happen when their second child is born, because she’s pregnant again and it’s not bringing her the same joy that learning about Iris did if he’s not there to smile and obsess and paint the walls different colors.

What she hates most, though, is that she can’t return his letters. He is constantly on the move, and never knows where he’ll be when she receives his letter and so very rarely can she pick up a pen and write back. She has already amassed a series of letters that she will never send to him. They are gathered in a box under her bed, and there they will stay, until the day he comes home to her.

Because she hopes with everything she has that he comes home to her.

* * *

**_December, 1942_ **

There is snow on the window of her hospital window and yet again she is surprised they made it here in such a snowfall. Barbara is by her side, holding her hand as she cradles her little baby boy. With his vibrant green eyes and the tiniest curl of red, he already reminds her of his father. In the chair at her bedside, Mary is rocking one-and-a-half-year-old Iris, who is fast asleep on her grandmother’s lap.

Barry is leaning against the wall behind Mary, arms crossed and smile playing on his lips. He keeps looking at his watch and wondering when his brother will show up. Because of his extra shift at the factory in this weather, Barry was called to bring her to the hospital, and now they are waiting on his brother-in-law. When Rudolph West walks in the door and sees her sitting there with a tiny little redheaded boy who is reaching for her hair and smiling ear to ear, he swears that he has walked into a memory from twenty-three years ago.

When Artemis tells him she has chosen Barbara and Richard as the godparents, he smiles and nods proudly. He says he will try his best to get a letter to his son and best friend, telling them the good news. When Artemis tells him what she has decided to name the baby, Wally’s father tries his best not to cry, but his eyes turn to mist and despite his efforts, a single tear trickles down his cheek.

Because little Wallace West Junior looks exactly like his father, and it’s just the shred of hope the family needs to keep going. To keep believing. To keep dreaming.

* * *

**_November, 1943_ **

At just over two-and-a-half years, Iris is walking and talking and sounding out things from around the house. Artemis watches her learn as she touches and plays with just about everything she can get her hands on. Especially her brother. Iris spends countless hours trying to teach her brother to walk like her, and to her credit, she’s managed three whole minutes before little Wallace drops on his butt.

He is almost a year old and he’s learning slowly, but prefers walking with his mother, or grandparents, or Barbara. Because Iris is too tall and too loud and annoying, and when he gets annoyed, he pulls on her hair. Artemis sits in the chair that used to be her mother’s and watches their antics with a wistful smile. They bring her more happiness than they can imagine, but it is nothing compared to the delight of sharing this with their father.

She has grown tired of hearing him apologize in this letters, or tell her that he wishes he were home with them. On the rare occasions she writes him back, she speaks only of the kids, because she figures maybe, at some point, they’ll be enough to bring him home. He tells her in his letters she receives every two weeks that he keeps a picture of them with him at all times, in a shirt pocket of his uniform, close to his heart. It should make her feel better, but somehow, it doesn’t.

“Mayman!” Iris claps when there’s a knock at the front door. “Mayman!” It is the same word Iris has learned to utter at this time on this day ever two weeks when the mailman arrives and drops mail in through the slot. Because she knows it means tonight when Mommy tucks her in, she’ll be getting a bedtime story from “Daddy.” And although she can’t quite call the mailman by his name very well, it still makes Artemis smile.

But that smile soon fades when Artemis goes through the delivery because amongst papers and bills--there is no tell-tale military emblem. No scrawled writing of her husband across an ink-stained envelope. There is no letter from Wally.

She thinks that maybe it is just a mistake. That maybe he’s in a place where he can’t write to them from, or maybe the post office messed up their sorting. So she resolves to wait, and tells Iris no bedtime story from Daddy tonight, and though the little girl’s excitement deflates, Artemis does not once think about giving up on her husband.

Not even two weeks later when again, no letter arrives. Or the time after that, or the time after that until finally, Artemis accepts that the letters have stopped coming. But still, she does not give up hope.

* * *

**_June, 1944_ **

When she awakes from her nap, the first thing she notices is that the children who were sleeping on her stomach and legs are no longer there. For a brief moment, Artemis panics. And then she notices her bedroom door is ajar and she can hear babbling trickling through the crack and she smiles. She gets to her feet and peeks her head inside to find them sitting beside her bed with a box between them. A box filled with letters she has written to her husband, letters she has never had the chance to send.

It has been seven long months without word from him, and she often wonders if they’re going to be okay. There is no word on when this war will end, and if it does, the thought has crossed her mind that he won’t come home. That she will be forced to raise her children without a father. That his letters are only the beginning of heartbreak. But as she stands here, in the doorway to their bedroom, and looks down at their children, mumbling and babbling baby words over letters they cannot read, she still smiles, because she has them, and maybe, _maybe_ , she’ll get through this.

They look up when she walks in, and break into identical smiles. Iris starts giggling with a photograph in her hand and little Wally nearly topples over. So Artemis steps in and quietly shuts the door and sits down with her children, balancing on one each leg, and asks Iris what they’re going. “Daddy!” she grins, waving the photograph back and forth and carefully, she plucks it from the little girl’s fingers. It is the three of them, her and Wally and Iris, sitting outside the house, in _their_ meadow, some weeks before he told her he was leaving. They are smiling and laughing at whoever was with them that day. She seems to think it might’ve been Barbara and Richard, but she can’t be sure.

She thinks about how little she has taken the time to lie with the children outside like she used to with Wally. How little she has sat there and thought about the past. “Mommy sad?”

She tries her best to smile at the small girl. “A little.”

“Why?” She points at the picture, frowning, while her brother sways and nearly falls off his mother’s lap. “Daddy?” Artemis nods. “Home?”

“I--” Her throat constricts a little as she puts the picture back in the box amongst the letters. “I don’t know, sweetheart. I’m not sure anymore.” She doesn’t wish to upset them, but it is a possibility and a truth she needs to begin facing and one day, she’ll have to tell them about it.

Iris fiddles with a lock of mother’s hair. “Different Daddy...Mommy happy?”

She is nearly undone by those words, but for their sakes, she keeps a smile on her lips and presses it against the little girl’s head of blond hair. For someone so small and so young, she is asking her mother something very big, and from the innocent look in her eyes Artemis knows she hasn’t a clue. “No,” she shakes her head, holding them close. “No, it wouldn’t. Because there’s only one Daddy for Mommy, and that’s yours. That’s Wallace West.”

At the sound of his name, little Wally looks up, eyes bright and mouth mid-giggle. He gurgles something at his mother and Iris snuggles closer, tugging on her brother’s shirt to quiet him. “Story time?” She whispers, hopeful.

Artemis considers, for a moment, before letting out a longing sigh. She gets to her feet, and plops the children on to her bed, and climbs on with them. They crawl over and lean against her and she begins the story of how, almost ten years ago, she was coming home from the general store and knocked into a man by the name of Wallace West. A man who made her laugh. A man who made her feel special. A man who made her feel beautiful. A man that she never, not once, stopping loving.

A man she still hopes will find his way home to her.

* * *

**_September, 1945_ **

She does not like today. She stares at the date on the calendar and does not like it. It is warmer out than the day they met, but she can almost feel the spot on her forehead that collided with his and can almost feel her fingers twitch the way they did as she dropped the paper bag. Immersed in her dishes, she tries not to think about it.

Mary is visiting. She is outside on the front porch playing with Iris and Wallace Jr. At three years old he is looking more and more like his father every day, and now, at least, when Iris comes to drag him around after her, he wobbles and walks and goes with her. Artemis can hear them giggling and yelling and calling after one another, and she focuses on that and tries to smile.

That is when the car rolls up. It’s black and large and she can just barely pick out the military sticker on the licence plate. Her stomach twists and she steps back from the sink to have a better look through the screen door towards the vehicle. On the porch, her mother-in-law and children have barely noticed.

The driver gets out of the car, and she notices the military uniform he wears and her heart rises in her throat. Her mind thinks a great many terrible things, but it’s not until the driver opens the back door that she realizes what is happening. The plate she was drying slips from her fingers and shatters on the kitchen floor, pieces falling everywhere. The dish cloth falls, forgotten and in a moment, the screen door slams against the wall as she races out of the house.

She forgets that she’s in bare feet, and feels the grass beneath her feet as she runs towards the car. On the porch behind her, Mary and the children look up and call her name, and only then do they realize who’s stepping out of the car with the driver’s help. He looks awful, with his arm in a sling and his face covered in cleaned cuts and scrapes, but he is _alive_ and that is what matters and in a moment her arms are around his neck and she’s crushed her lips to his.

“Artemis,” he starts between kisses, but she shakes her head with tears in her eyes and is careful not to hurt him as she tries to convey the things she cannot say, the things her words cannot fully express. He tastes like salt and smells like soap but underneath that, she can still catch the familiar tobacco and firewood, like it never left. Like _he_ never left. There is a hole in her heart that’s held only hope and now, standing here, with him, it’s closing. She is careful not to hurt him as she pulls away and keeps him steady but she has never felt more happy than in this second, with her husband home safe and sound. He is tired but it’s hard to tell because he’s clean-shaven, with a new ironed uniform and everything is okay and right and _perfect_.

There is a tug on the hem of her dress and she looks down to see that Iris has made it across the yard and is standing there blubbering up at her father. In one swoop she’s up in his arms and is somewhere between laughing and crying as she recognizes the man she knows as Daddy. He is happy and smiling and his eyes look watery as he holds his little girl and tells her over and over how much he has missed her.

“Momma?” a small voice draws her attention down to the boy clinging at her leg. He’s staring up at her with wide eyes and a puzzled expression and one small hand points towards his namesake. “Who?”

“Him?” Artemis smiles, reaching down to pick up her son. “That’s your Daddy, sweetie.”

It’s then that Wally notices the boy, with her eyes and his hair, giving him the most nervous of looks, and he breaks. Because it’s like looking in a mirror, staring over at the kid, and when Artemis tells him that this is his son, that this little boy is Wallace West Junior, tears begin to stream down his face. He pus Iris down, who runs straight for her grandmother, to gab and gab about Daddy being home, and takes his son in his arms for the first time ever. Mary approaches and he moves to get up but she tells him there will be time, later, for her. Right now, his family is what’s most important. His family, who has waited and hoped and believed in him.

Artemis smiles at him radiantly, and whispers to him that not once has she regretted spilling soup for him that sunny afternoon. Not once has she regretted her heart breaking, _twice_. And not once has she ever, or will she, regret falling in love with him.


End file.
